


Neither Angels Nor Demons

by orchidwitch



Category: Ghost (Sweden Band)
Genre: 1970s, Angst, Canon Divergence, Eventual Smut, F/M, Fluff and Smut, Gentle Sex, Magic, Making Love, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Poetry, Rock and Roll, Romance, Rough Sex, Shower Sex, Stealing, Witches, i am an english major let me make multiple literary references, poets, slight AU
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-06-02
Updated: 2020-06-10
Packaged: 2021-03-03 22:14:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Major Character Death
Chapters: 6
Words: 11,052
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24502960
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/orchidwitch/pseuds/orchidwitch
Summary: "Neither the angels in Heaven aboveNor the demons down under the seaCan ever dissever my soul from the soulof the beautiful Annabel Lee"- Edgar Allan Poe, 'Annabel Lee'In 1976, the future Papa Emeritus II takes a sabbatical in New York City. There, he meets Anna, runaway witch and aspiring poet. However an unlikely pair they seem, what grows between them cannot be denied.[tags will be updated as i go]
Relationships: Papa Emeritus II/Original Female Character(s)
Comments: 8
Kudos: 15





	1. Chapter 1

_Tuesday, June 15, 1976_

_Manhattan, New York, New York_

_2:39 p.m._

New York City was not a kind place. Even the middle, and perhaps the most severe of the Emeritus brothers could recognize the unforgiving nature of the city. Many of the buildings were in near-ruin. Prostitutes and drug dealers prowled the streets, most of them working on side-hustles as musicians on the Lower East Side. The rich turned their noses at their less fortunate neighbors. The summer heat was magnified in the concrete jungle, and the stale, hot air amplified the stenches and the misery of the city. 

And yet, the middle Emeritus brother had come here willingly for his sabbatical. He hadn't chosen it with much tact. He simply had a strange, itching desire to get out of Europe and into America, to take a break from the increasing drudgery and stress that came with being a part of the ruling family of the Church of Sin.

Thus far in his life, he had done everything the Church had asked of him, and he failed to sense any appreciation or anything worthwhile for all of his effort and trouble. He had attended and participated in all of the rituals, he'd pledged his soul to Satan without question or hesitation, he studied black magic and theologies of all kinds, and attained a degree from one of the most prestigious universities in Europe, and he was still not satisfied with his life.

He felt he could not break out of the shadow of his elder brother, who did everything before he could, and with more gusto and grace. He also couldn't outshine his younger brother, who possessed humor, wit, and a boyish charm that all enhanced the adoration he already received solely based on the fact that he was the youngest, and undeniably cutest, of them all. Their father, the one they called Papa Nihil, looked to his eldest son to inherit his dark kingdom, and to his youngest son for amusement and laughter. He hardly looked at his second son at all, something the middle Emeritus was increasingly aware of the older he'd become.

So, before taking his final vows to commit his life to the Church, the middle Emeritus had decided to take a sabbatical. It wasn't what one normally did during the summer between finishing studies and taking vows, but it was what he felt he needed to be doing. It certainly beat hanging around the abbey all summer only to be annoyed by his brothers, pestered by Sister Imperator, and ignored by his father.

And it wasn't as if this sabbatical meant he had to live like other New Yorkers in the city. He still had access to all of the funds of the Church. He had found a nice hotel suite to rent, one that he wouldn't have been able to afford otherwise, and still could pay for whatever else he so desired. He could go and do what he wanted without having to answer to the Church or Satan.

He hoped that maybe, just maybe, he could find something in the city—a reason not to return back to the Church.

But that was something that would require external circumstance, something that he could not control as much as he wished. So, for now, he resigned himself to exploring the city, which, at the moment, meant finally slipping into that interesting little bookstore he'd found last evening.

He made his way inside, little bells singing over his head as he opened the door. He was immediately greeted by a rather comforting aroma of old paper and ink, a scent he'd learned to appreciate in all of his studies. The shop had a surprising old-world charm about it that reminded him much more of home than he'd anticipated. The space was larger than it looked from the outside, with rows of cluttered bookshelves stretching back for as far as he could see. The shop was a labyrinth of these shelves, creating twisting paths with no apparent rhyme or reason, beneath flickering fluorescent lights. The shopkeeper behind the cluttered counter only gave him a momentarily glance and curt grunt of a greeting before going back to reading yesterday's tabloid magazine.

The second Emeritus made his way through the maze, surprised to see so many old and rare volumes along his way. He had no particular plan in mind, but he simply hoped that something would catch his eye and ask him to take it home.

After some time of wandering, he found an old Henry James compilation, and settled into an old leather armchair to skim through it before deciding if he wanted to purchase it.

Sometime after becoming lost in James' meandering sentences, the second Emeritus noticed that he was no longer alone in the back corner of the odd little book shop. There was a young woman now, crouched before him as she scanned the poetry shelf. Her long, dark hair tumbled down her back and shoulders, untamed and unruly. She had a well-worn satchel hanging around her shoulders and there was a beret haphazardly placed upon her head. She was wearing denim cutoff shorts and a Rolling Stones t-shirt that fit her poorly. Her sneakers were dirty and her arms and legs were bruised, purple and black patches marring her otherwise smooth skin.

The second Emeritus watched her with interest. She had no clue he was there, despite there only being a few feet between them. She truly appeared to be in her own little world, humming a song unknown to him while her fingers traced the spines of the books before her. He noticed her fingers were littered with cheap silver rings, her wrists lined with bracelets that jingled as she moved her hands.

There was something different about her that he could not quite put his finger on. She was somewhere between bohemian and punk, and the longer she went without noticing him, the more he was convinced that she was perhaps the most oblivious person he'd ever come across. But oblivious wasn't quite the right word. She seemed to be capable of being aware of the world around her, but not at all interested in doing so, and there was something oddly endearing about her appearing that way.

Emeritus watched as she pulled a frail copy of Baudelaire's _Les Fleurs du Mal_ from the shelf closest to the ground, uttering an audible gasp while doing so. He cocked a small grin—it was rare that he witnessed such pure and unabashed joy.

The young woman quickly stashed the book in the depths of her bag and rose to her feet swiftly. She turned on her heels to leave, and when she did, her almost-black eyes locked with the mismatched eyes of Emeritus, and she froze in her tracks. She was more than surprised as he met her gaze with light laughter.

"I'm not going to tell on you," he said. He felt like a child as he said so, a giddy, mischievous sensation that he'd rarely felt as a child.

Her face broke out in a grin before very gratefully saying, "Thank you."

He nodded, ready to watch her go, but not exactly ready to face the reality of never seeing her again when she stepped forward and grabbed his hands. He was rightfully taken aback, though allowed her to do so, even feeling the desire to let her do so, the desire to feel her hands against his. He was not sure what she was planning, but her pressing a small, pearly white stone into the palm of his hand was not anywhere on his list of things he thought she might do.

" _Thank you,_ " she repeated. She clasped her hands around his, making his hands mold around the stone, which seemed to emanate an almost life-like warmth and the faintest of pulses.

Who was this little thief? Or rather, _what_ was this little thief?

He didn't have time to formulate a response. She was gone as quickly as she had appeared, leaving the second Emeritus wondering what the hell happened, but, perhaps more importantly, with a strong desire to see her again.

She'd only said two words to him, and he already felt that she'd put some sort of spell on him.

Little did he know how much those feelings would grow. If he knew then, perhaps he would have run and never looked back to spare them both the pain that was yet to come.


	2. Chapter 2

_Tuesday, June 15, 1976_

_Manhattan, New York, New York_

_11:29 p.m._

Anna Gray made do with what little she had. After leaving, or, actually, after running away from her relatively comfortable life in Massachusetts, she had to learn how to get by with no money or resources, and she learned how to do that fast. That was why she lived in a glorified closet with the world's tiniest bathroom, beneath the stairs at the Hotel Grande. The only good thing about the living space was that she didn't have to pay for it—she worked off her rent by working as a maid for the hotel—and that it had room for the few possessions she had. 

She had figured out how to make the most of the small shoe box of a room. She kept her herbs in small pots growing on the adjacent fire escape, and hung them from the ceiling all over the room, often hitting her head on them in the middle of the night during sleepy trips to the bathroom. She kept her cauldron and altar set up on top of her old dresser and all of the big books she knew were valuable safely locked in the lock box that came with the room. What few articles of clothing she had were meticulously folded and organized in the drawers of the dresser, and the couple of things that couldn't be folded down hung carefully on the back of the bathroom door. She'd attempted to cover the spots on the wall where the wallpaper had peeled off with pictures and posters ripped out of stolen copies of _Rolling Stone_ , so that her rock idols were always watching her. The things she cared about the most, like her beloved volumes of poetry, her notebooks, and her crystals, were all kept in her bag, the bag that very rarely left her person.

Currently, though, that old bag of hers was resting atop her bed as she hung a fresh bundle of lavender from the ceiling to dry. She was trying to distract herself from what she'd done earlier, a thing that she knew was very, _very_ wrong.

Stealing the Baudelaire book was not what was gnawing away at her. Stealing didn't bother her anymore. At first, when she first began to steal out of necessity, it bothered her. The Catholic guilt her father had forcefully instilled in her ate at her soul, and she would often run around the corner and begin to pray fervently, begging the god that failed her for forgiveness. But she kept on stealing necessities—food, clothing, that sort of thing. The more she stole, the more she became used to it, and the more used to it she became, the more she started to steal. The more she stole, the better she became at it, and now she was probably one of the best thieves in New York. That was really saying something.

The stealing may not have been bothering her, but what she had done to the stranger who just so happened to catch her in the act was riddling her with regret and anxiety. She had given him a small piece of moonstone from her bag, pressing it into his hands before he could even realize what she was doing, and forced him to take it. More than that, when she forced him to take it, she uttered a short spell under her breath. The spell, when combined with the moonstone she'd given him, would, without a doubt, cause their paths to meet again, and soon. And they would meet again, and again, and again after that.

She had performed a binding spell on a complete stranger without event thinking about it.

She had seen an attractive young man, more or less her age, with an intriguing European accent and a smile that made her weak in the knees like a school girl, and she acted on instinct and used her magic to make sure she would see him again, whether he wanted to see her again or not.

She never, _ever_ did things like that. She never used magic on people without their consent. She had learned her lesson about doing that the hard way, and made herself vow to never do that again. But then she ran into a stupidly attractive man and that vow went out the window instantaneously.

It wasn't even like she had a plan of what to do when they met again. She wasn't a flirt. If anything, she was often painfully awkward around those she found attractive. It was part of the reason she avoided relationships and romance of all kinds, because she had little to no clue how to navigate those situations. The other part of why she avoided those situations was because, if by some miracle, she ever got into a relationship, she knew it would never work.

She was a witch, without a coven, who had been raised by Catholics. She had no money, no real home, and she spent too much time lost in the fantasies provided by poetry. She was a walking disaster, a total fucking mess, a ticking time bomb. She didn't wish that on anyone, no matter how many nights she dreamed of love and companionship.

Anna cut her thumb on a stray nail in the ceiling, cursing under her breath before bringing the bleeding finger to her mouth. She hopped off the chair she'd been standing on and grabbed a pinch of blessed salt from the cup on her altar and pressed it into the wound. Combined with a spell of intention, the remedy caused the wound to heal itself completely in a matter of seconds. She wished she could undo the binding spell as easily, but that would be impossible, so long as the man still had the moonstone she'd forced upon him.

Looking up, Anna made eye contact with the poster of David Bowie over her bed. In that moment, he seemed to be staring down at her judgmentally in his Ziggy Stardust guise, like he knew exactly what she'd done and was scolding her for it. She narrowed her eyes, realized her paranoia, and sighed. Plopping down on her bed, she reached up and poked Bowie on the nose.

"I know, man," she said. It was not the first time she'd spoken to her posters—they were her only true confidants. "I really fucked up."


	3. Chapter 3

_Wednesday, June 16, 1976_

_Manhattan, New York, New York_

_10:16 p.m._

The second Emeritus was...restless.

He had been ever since his encounter with the book thief yesterday. Something about her intrigued him. It was an intrigue that he couldn't recall feeling before. There was just something about her that drew him in.

Perhaps it was because she was so obviously from a world very opposite his. She was dirty and bruised, in ill-fitting clothing, apparently unable to afford a used book. He had lived the majority of his life in vast luxury. He had everything, at least everything material, provided to him at the drop of a hat, and he'd had this since he was a child. He was used to living in that castle of an abbey, wearing fine clothes, eating delicious, gourmet food, and having everyone around him bent to the will of him, his brothers, and his father. She, quite clearly, had never experienced even a modicum of this lifestyle, and yet there was a joy about her that was absolutely infectious. The image of her smile, the smile she'd flashed him when she realized he was going to let her get away with her stolen poems, was one of unadulterated happiness.

She hadn't been tainted like he had. She had it rough, sure, but she was still in control of her own soul and her own destiny. His soul was no longer his, nor was his destiny. He envied her. At the same time, he admired her. He didn't even know her, but he did admire that aura of freedom that surrounded her. Freedom was not something he had ever known, at least not in total.

His restlessness had caused him to spend his day wandering the streets with no plan. He hadn't had any real plan before, but now he truly lacked one. He didn't even bother to poke his head into any shops; he just kept walking. There was some part of him that he didn't want to confront that hoped he'd see her again. Maybe she'd be running out of another bookstore with another volume of French poetry, maybe she'd be tucked against a building in the shade lost in the pages of one. He didn't know. He only hoped he'd find her.

This itching feeling to see her, this _desire,_ disturbed him. Back home, he could likely have anyone he wanted. He was well versed in carnal pleasures and desires, so much so that he already felt himself growing jaded by the idea of it all, and he was only twenty-four. He had little to no interest in the emotional side of it—that seemed like too much effort, and far too personal for his taste. He preferred to keep the talking and 'romance' to a minimum.

And yet, he wanted to talk to that strange little book thief. Who was she? _What_ was she? What in her life lead her to having to steal books? Why Baudelaire? Had she lived in the city for her entire life? Did she have a job? If she read poetry, did she write it? If so, what about?

That was what disturbed him the most. Physical desire he could handle, even if such longing physical desire for a woman who was little more than a street urchin was new and unexpected. But it disturbed him that he wanted to _talk_ to her, to get to know her.

He could almost convince himself that she'd bewitched him.

At the thought of magic, he pinched the small stone in his pocket, the one she'd given him. He'd kept it on him for the past twenty-four hours, like a good luck talisman that would lead him back to her.

Hands in his pockets, he turned to go into the small bar a block away from his hotel. He'd been to this bar a couple of times already. Their red wine was pretty good and there was usually a decent house band performing on the cramped stage.

Droning rock'n'roll greeted him as he walked inside, taking a seat at the end of the scarred mahogany bar. The bartender, a slim blonde with a cigarette dangling from her painted lips, took his order swiftly and brought him his desired wine, though she did make sure to tell him he was the only one who ordered wine in this establishment. He wasn't surprised. He could see that the bar attracted a more beer and whiskey kind of crowd.

A short distance across the bar, closer to the small stage, a little crowd of adoring music fans gathered as the music sped up. Among them was a dark haired young woman with a beret dangerously close to falling off her head, fingers adorned with cheap silver rings, and arms decorated with jingling bangles. She separated herself from the crowd some and began to dance...kind of. She lifted her hands over her head as if praising some god and twirled in circles to the rhythm, eyes closed, as if in a trance of ecstasy. She moved like no one was watching, though it seemed as though she didn't care if people were watching. In her world, it was just her and the music.

Emeritus couldn't _not_ notice her. He would have noticed her regardless, as she was spinning and gyrating like a lunatic, but he had to notice her, because she was the book thief, in the flesh, even more free than he had built her up to be.

He smiled, watching her from his place at the bar. She looked absolutely insane. She was, in that moment, one of the most beautiful things he'd ever seen. He was so used to the rigid order of the Church, the never ending rituals and formalities, the rules and regulations. Satanism was supposed to be about freedom, he was told, but it appeared as though the Satanists in the Church were only free to follow the rules given to them by the clergy. But the book thief...she was truly free.

The song ended, the band retreated off the stage, and Emeritus watched the book thief with an eagerness he did his best to contain. She pushed her hair out of her flushed face, and while doing so, met his glance. There was no surprise as he'd anticipated. Rather, she looked as though she'd known he was there all along. That expression faded into something he could only label as disappointment, and then turned into a soft, kind smile that remained on her face as she made her way to him.

"Hi," she greeted.

Now that they were this close, Emeritus could see the warmth in the darkness of her wide brown eyes.

"Hello," he said. He felt like he should say something else, though he didn't know what. He felt so out of his element. "I...I wasn't expecting to run into you again."

"Are you disappointed?" she asked. She picked at one of her rings nervously.

"No, no, of course not," he told her. He was oddly offended that she would think such a thing. "I was actually hoping to see you again, though I knew it was highly improbable...please, have a seat, let me buy you a drink."

Her deep brown eyes scanned his face, attempting to detect a lie. Once she realized he was being honest, her smile returned, and she hopped up onto the bar stool beside him.

"My name is Anna," she said.

She extended a hand for him to shake. He did, and he held on for what may have been a bit too long. Luckily, she didn't seem to care.

"Domenico," he said. He was shocked that his first name was the one he told her. It was rare that he used it. "It's a pleasure to meet you."

She dropped her chin into her palm, her grin growing ever so slightly as she examined his features again. He wondered if she'd noticed that his eyes were two different colors. Then again, it was hard to miss. The real question should be what she thought about his eyes. He hoped they didn't make her too uncomfortable. They often made outsiders uncomfortable, though he'd never bothered to care until now.

"Pleasure to meet you too," she said, finally. "Where are you from?"

"Europe," he answered, sipping his wine. "Italy, specifically, though my family has property in Sweden as well."

He had to be careful what he said to her. He couldn't just come out and tell her that he was an heir to the throne of the Church of Sin. Well, he probably shouldn't ever tell her that, but telling her that immediately after properly meeting her would definitely not be the right move.

"Wow," she said. Her awe was genuine. "What the hell are you doing in New York?"

He shrugged slightly. "Taking a bit of a holiday, I suppose. I needed a bit of a, eh...change of pace."

"That's understandable," she said. "I would love to go to Europe someday. I've always wanted to see Paris. All of the literary history in that city...I'd just about die, I think."

Domenico bit his tongue, resisting the urge to tell her to pack her things so he could take her to Paris tomorrow. It was something he could easily do. It was something he would do without a thought for a potential lover he wished to impress back at the Church. It was not the kind of thing to say to an outsider right after meeting them.

"I'm sure you'll go someday," he said, hoping that was appropriate enough. "Can I get you a drink?"

"Whiskey on the rocks?" Anna asked.

"If that's what you want, that's what you'll get," he told her.

He turned and signaled the bartender to order her drink for her, something that looked to impress her. The drink came quickly and he paid, handing the bartender double what the drink cost, and told her to keep the change.

"Wow," Anna said. "Thank you."

"You're more than welcome."

Domenico watched Anna take the first sip of her drink. She was quite aware that his eyes were on her, and looked a little nervous, her cheeks flushing again in that wonderful way that he could see himself coming to love.

"You're quite the gentleman," she said.

"Thank you."

"And I...I hope you don't take this the wrong way when I ask, but...are you, like, rich?"

The second Emeritus laughed. She was so frank. It was refreshing, coming from a world where lies and deceit were more common than honesty in many situations.

"Yes," he said, deciding it was best to be honest with her in return. "I hope that doesn't change your impression of me."

"It makes me like you more," she quipped.

This time, they shared a laugh, and Domenico was quick to realize how wonderful it felt to laugh with her.

"I hope you don't think less of me when I tell you that I am not at all rich," Anna said, tracing the lip of her glass with her index finger.

"Not at all," he assured her. "I...I don't know why, yet, but I find you quite...charming."

Anna grinned again. She ducked a little, hiding her smile and blush behind a curtain of dark locks before daring to face him again.

"A rich, good looking European guy finds me, a poor, American, book-stealing girl _charming_?"

Without hesitation, he answered, "Yes."

Her eyes widened once more. She hadn't been expecting that answer, and certainly hadn't been expecting it so earnestly. She had to mull over the one word answer for a few moments. And then she gave him another smile, the smile he didn't want to be without anymore. 

The two made some small talk, which came easier than Domenico had expected, considering he had little to no experience with small talk, particularly with outsiders. With Anna, it came effortlessly. She comfortably coaxed plenty of information out of him—he told her about his brothers (as much as he could without revealing too much), about his travels through some of the places in Europe that she wanted to visit herself, about his studies, and about some of his favorite records, like those by Black Sabbath and Blue Oyster Cult. She was just easy to talk to, easy to get along with. She sat and watched him with genuine interest, her chin still resting in her palm, her lips turned into a soft smile, and a glimmer in her dark eyes. She was attentive and kind to him without ulterior motive, and he wasn't used to that. He could get used to it, though.

When it came to talking about herself, however, she was less forthcoming. He got very little out of her, aside from her telling him she was a poet and she liked pretty much any music under the rock umbrella. He wasn't sure if it was a tactic to leave him wanting more or if she was simply not comfortable talking about herself quite yet.

Either way, he did want more. They talked for nearly three hours, though it didn't feel anywhere close to that long of a time, and only realized that they had been talking for so long because the bar closed at one o'clock in the morning. Their drinks, and most of the other patrons, were long gone, but the two of them would have been quite comfortable to stay and talk for many more hours. Instead, they gathered their things and headed towards the door, as neither wanted to be a bother to the staff.

Domenico held the door open for Anna, and she was surprised again by the polite gesture. He wondered how many men had been rude to her for her to react like that each time that he did something he considered to be polite in the most basic sense. He couldn't think about that for very long. He didn't like to think that Anna encountered anyone who was less than kind to her. He hardly knew her, but he knew she deserved only kindness.

"Can I...would it be possible for me to see you again?" he asked, as the two stood beneath a flickering street lamp. Somehow, even in such awful lighting, Anna still looked absolutely beautiful.

"Of course," she said. "I'd like that. A lot."

"Well, er, do you have a phone number I can call you at?" he asked.

"I don't," she said. "But I don't think you'd need it anyways. I have a feeling we'll run into each other again when we're meant to."

He didn't have time to ask what that meant. She thanked him for the drink, and disappeared down an alleyway, leaving him in the street with a confused but stupidly giddy grin painted on his face.


	4. Chapter 4

_Friday, June 18, 1976_

_Manhattan, New York, New York_

_8:03 p.m._

Nearly two days had passed since Emeritus had seen Anna and he was growing more and more antsy by the minute. He wanted to see her again. He felt like an idiot for wanting to see her as badly as he did. He had not expected to be so interested in someone, especially while on his sabbatical. He never imagined that he would be so fascinated by someone so opposite him, and yet, here he was.

He tried to distract himself with some sight seeing. He went to see the World Trade Center, the Empire State Building, and the Statue of Liberty, and had spent almost all day at the Modern Museum of Art. He had a good time at all of the tourist spots and especially at the museum, yet the image and idea of Anna still clouded his thoughts, so much so that he scanned every face he passed in hope that it might be her. Of course, he didn't come across her.

With every face that passed, he pondered what she'd said to him about them finding each other again when the time was right, as he still hadn't figured out quite what that meant. He wished she'd just given him her phone number. That would have made things so much easier. Was he really supposed to think that he'd just magically run into her in one of the world's biggest cities? It had happened before, sure, but that meant it was increasingly unlikely to happen again.

All the while, he couldn't help but to wonder what those back home would think of him if they ever knew he even so much as thought about a woman like Anna as much as he already had. It wasn't exactly discouraged to pursue outsiders, though pursuing just any outsider was not encouraged. If one was to pursue an outsider, it should be because they were well-connected, well-endowed (physically, monetarily, or otherwise), or because they were interested in joining their infernal flock. Willy-nilly casual sex was alright if there were no strings attached and if the people they had sex with were a certain kind of people...the kind of people that Anna most certainly did not belong to. Filthy, bruised, book thieves who danced wildly to experimental rock in dive bars were not the of women that the Church of Satan wanted to associate with.

Maybe that was part of why the second Emeritus felt such a tug to her. She was everything he was not, everything he had been trained not to be, and she appeared to be so goddamn happy about it.

So he wanted to see her again. So what? He shouldn't feel guilt about that. Satanism taught its followers that desire was not something to feel ashamed of—it was a part of the human experience. Desire was to be indulged, when possible, and pleasure-seeking was always praised. But, being an Emeritus, those rules didn't apply to Domenico the same way they would have an ordinary member of the Church. He had markedly different rules to follow if he was to eventually take over papal duties one day. He could indulge in the carnal pleasures with whoever he wanted to within the Church. He could pick favorites, keep regular lovers, but nothing beyond that, nothing that would compromise his focus on his duties to the Church. He could not have a relationship in the traditional sense: no 'girlfriends' or 'boyfriends,' no long term commitments, certainly no marriage, though marriage ceremonies were rare enough among the lower members of the congregation.

He pinched the rock, the strange gift from Anna, that was still in his pocket. He was trying to distract himself from thinking of her, as his mind was already wandering too much for his comfort. He was not the romantic type. He never had been, and never planned on becoming the romantic type. He didn't know what the book thief had done to him that was causing him to indulge in romantic daydreams about her. He wanted to hate her for it.

But he couldn't. He wanted to hate her for waking up that soft part of him that he'd worked so hard to bury deep inside of him and forget about. She hadn't even meant to, and she'd done it so easily, with a few smiles and blinks of her warm, kind eyes. There was a light about her that he could see himself becoming addicted to, a light so unlike the darkness his life had been shrouded in. He wanted to hate her for it. He really, _really_ did.

And then, by some fateful stroke of serendipity, he saw her.

She was seated on a bench outside of a coffee shop, cross-legged, with a cigarette between her fingers as she read her Baudelaire. She was wearing an oversized sweater now, one that Domenico knew hid her beautiful body. He was almost offended to see it on her. Such beauty needed to be adorned and admired, not hidden beneath a sweater that had safety pins holding one of the arms on.

Nonetheless, he swallowed his pride and approached her.

"Anna?"

She lifted her head, that goddamn smile of hers already painted on her pretty lips.

"Domenico," she said. He liked the way his name sounded coming from her mouth. "I told you we'd see each other again."

"You did," he said. "If I didn't know any better, I'd be inclined to think that you put some sort of spell on me."

Her eyes narrowed, like she was trying to disguise some kind of upset.

"I'm sorry, I only meant it as a joke," he said. "It's just that...I've become rather bewitched by you, Anna, and I don't know how else to describe it. I'm not one to become so interested in people, especially strangers. This is...new to me."

Domenico watched her gulp as a slight blush crept onto her cheeks.

"...You're serious?" she asked.

He crossed his fingers over his heart. "Swear to Satan."

He immediately regretted the phrasing he'd used. Anna didn't notice, or maybe she didn't care.

"Well, then, I...I'm new to this to," she said, nervously tucking a loose, dark lock of hair behind her ears. She had no hat on today, making her hair look even prettier. "I'm not a... _relationship_ kind of person. Not that this is a relationship—that's not what I meant to say—but I, I mean, I don't even flirt with people or go on casual dates—"

"It's alright," he assured her through a light chuckle. "We will be new at this together, yes?"

Anna grinned, thankful that he was so understanding. She took the hand he offered her without hesitation, and allowed him to pull her to her feet. She dropped her cigarette, extinguishing it beneath the heel of her sneaker, and then squeezed his hand with both of hers.

"Yes. We will."

He lifted her hand to his lips, giving it a gentle kiss. Despite the bruises and cuts, Anna's skin was delightfully soft and warm, drawing him in even more. He wanted to grab her and kiss her right there in the middle of the street, but he knew better, and refrained from doing so.

"Anna?"

"Yes?"

"Would you like to come back to my hotel with me? I'm not asking out of disrespect, and there's no pressure to do anything you don't want to...I just would love the opportunity to get to know you in ways that would not be appropriate to do here..."

Domenico held his breath as he waited for Anna to answer. She was taking her sweet time. He couldn't blame her, though. He'd sprung it on her, and he wasn't sure if these kinds of offers were as common out in the world as they were in the Church. And though he would completely understand if she turned him down or wanted to slow things down, he was hoping to Satan that she wouldn't.

"I don't do things like this...," she began, causing him to feel his heart sink a little. "But I will."

He smiled like a total idiot, and for a split second, forgot to restrain himself. In that split second, he tugged her close and kissed her, which he stopped doing almost as soon as he started, going against everything his body was telling him.

"I'm sorry," he apologized quickly.

Thankfully, she smiled. She leaned forward and down a bit, as she was an inch or two taller than he was, and brushed her lips against his again, causing a smile to erupt on his face.

x X x

Domenico and Anna walked back to his hotel hand-in-hand. They remained hand-in-hand as they walked through the lobby and took the elevator to the fourteenth floor, where Domenico was staying in one of the finest rooms the place had to offer.

Anna was in awe of it all. She apologized to him repeatedly as they headed to his room and began to settle in, saying she wasn't used to being in such fancy places.

"There's no need to apologize," Domenico told her. "Have a seat, please. Can I get you a drink? Whiskey?"

"That'd be wonderful," she said.

He turned to the small bar, fixing them each a glass of whiskey. Anna carefully set her bag down and took a seat on the plush loveseat, anxiously twisting the rings on her fingers, still taking in her surroundings and feeling very undeserving of it all.

"Thank you," she said, accepting the drink.

"You are more than welcome."

The two clinked their glasses together in a silent cheers and each took a sip. Domenico took a seat beside her, unsure of how close to get. He retained what he would consider to be a polite distance, though he was itching to get closer. He took a chance, and with gentle fingers, reached out to tuck her hair behind her ear for her, revealing her lovely face to him in full. His light touch had coaxed another blush out of her, something he found himself being rather proud of. Her eyes met his, and he could've sworn he saw a flicker of desire in the warm depths of her eyes, though it could have been hopeful thinking.

"Can I...," she began, swallowing her nerves. "Can I kiss you?"

He wanted to laugh at her sweet sincerity.

" _Cara,_ you do not have to ask."

She did not need to be told twice.

Before he knew it, Anna had slithered into his lap, straddling his hips. He was practically shocked—it was rare women in the Church took such initiative. They preferred to wait for him to take control, acting coquettish and coy, yet being very obvious about what they wanted.

If Domenico had not been totally enthralled by her before, he certainly was now. Her touch was magical, both comforting and electrifying at the same time, and the feeling of her slender fingers brushing through his hair really did something for him. He grabbed at her hips and attempted to force them closer to his own, but Anna cocked a grin as she held her position firm, which, again, he was not used to. His previous lovers and conquests had almost all unanimously given themselves to him, and bent to his will. Right from the get-go, Anna was proving herself to be defiant. He was eager to see where this went.

Her arms snaked around his neck, closing some of the distance between them, pressing her chest against his. He inhaled sharply to stop himself from making a more ludicrous noise, as she was already driving him insane. He moved his hands from her hips to her ass, and it found it to be wonderfully and perfectly full as he massaged the soft flesh in his hands. He had yet to make her crack as she had already managed to make him crack, and he was excited at the prospect of getting to every inch of her to figure out what made her tick, what would make her come unraveled at his doing.

"I thought you wanted to kiss me," Domenico half-asked.

"I do," she said.

Her brown eyes scanned his face. She gripped his hair tighter, adjusting his head for a better angle to see him at, her lips curling into a different kind of grin. He let out a low groan at the sensation.

"Get on with it," he commanded.

"You're very impatient, aren't you?" she asked, tilting her head.

"You're making it very hard to be patient."

"Patience is a virtue," she teased.

She came forward in a way that made him think she was finally going to kiss him, but her lips met his cheek rather than his mouth. Her lips traced his jaw, first in a line of delicate, peppered kisses, and then back towards his mouth with sloppy, wet, open-mouthed kisses. Her hands trailed down his chest while she kissed at the corners of his mouth, very careful to get close to giving him what he wanted without ever giving it to him. Her fingers tweaked his nipples through the thin fabric of his shirt as they made their way to his belt, prodding at it in an agonizing manner.

He was now rather convinced that this woman, this poor, street rat of a book thief, was a gift from Satan himself.

"I have no interest in learning an virtues."

Unable to hold himself back any further, he knotted one hand in her dark locks, reining her in for a kiss that was full of all of the tension she'd instilled in him. She was rightfully surprised and struggled to meet his frenzy and pace. His other hand pressed into the small of her back, pushing her hips forward to meet his. He could already feel the warmth from between her legs through the layers of clothing that separated them and let out an unholy groan as he realized it.

"Bed," he said. "Now."


	5. Chapter 5

Things were moving. Things were moving fast.

In less than an instant, Domenico had Anna on the bed. He was, with each passing moment, becoming more and more unraveled. Everything little thing about her was driving him wild—the soft, tender sensation of her skin, her light lavender scent, the flashing of her dark eyes, and the small sounds she uttered between kisses and his massages to her breasts. Hastily, he tugged at her shirt, unrelentingly, until she shifted enough for him to be able to get it off of her. Finally, he was beginning to see her, all of her, and she truly was beautiful. Almost all of her skin was sunkissed, and she was perfectly curvy. He found no bra beneath her shirt, much to his pleasure.

Somehow, in all of the frenzy, his shirt had come unbuttoned, so he was quickly able to discard it. He felt Anna's eyes take him in as he had taken in her, and a new rush of desire surged through his system. He knew he wasn't much to look at—especially when compared to her, a woman who became more beautiful the more he saw of her—but the way she looked at him made him feel like so much more.

Anna grabbed his face again, bringing his mouth back to hers for another kiss. His hand slipped down her torso and into her shorts, then into her underwear, so that he could finally feel her. She was warm and wet and wonderful, and he couldn't resist bringing his fingers to his mouth for a taste of her. She squirmed in disappointment beneath him as he removed his hand, so he made fast work of getting her out of her shorts and underwear, leaving her completely exposed to him.

As he got himself out of his pants, Anna's hands crept over his torso in a tantalizing fashion. Now unencumbered, he leaned forward, taking handfuls of the soft insides of her thighs to push her legs apart so he could get a view of her. He bit down on his bottom lip at the sight of her, and then, unable to stop, descended upon her, kissing and nipping and biting at every bit of her sweet flesh that he could get to.

Anna whimpered, overwhelmed by the barrage of sensation. Domenico was not going easy on her, leaving trails of teeth marks and bruises in his wake across her breast and chest and neck. He was pressing into her now too, the entirety of his erection enveloped at her entrance, both teasing and threatening. She desperately wanted him to just do the damn thing, to enter her and make love to her until she couldn't take it anymore. At the same time, she already knew from what they'd done thus far that he would not be gentle, and that made her nervous.

"Condom," she reminded him. "Please."

Domenico was momentarily snapped out of his frenzy, surprised by how ginger her tone was. He was used to his lovers matching him in his throes of passion, attempting to engage in a battle of dominance they had no chance of winning, or simply becoming loud, grovelling putty in his hands. Anna was neither. She was something different, though he should have known that by now.

She was being soft with him. He was not used to soft in any sense of the word.

"Of course."

He got one of the condoms he'd had the foresight to put in the nightstand drawer earlier and put it on. At last, he could do what he'd been yearning to do since he'd met her.

With an ease that Anna found both impressive and nerve-wracking, Domenico had her flipped over so that he could enter her from behind, and he did exactly that, with no hesitation. Anna gasped at the sudden feeling of fullness, and Domenico hissed a moan of his own. She was tight and she was wet and everything about her as positively delicious.

It didn't take long for Domenico to lose what little restraint he had left. He began to pound into her recklessly, not focusing on anything but the immense pleasure mounting within him. He reached down and took a fistful of Anna's hair, forcing her face further into the pillows, eliciting another cry from her, though this one was stifled. She took fistfuls of the sheets on either side of her, trying to stabilize herself against all of Domenico's forceful movements. A few tears leaked from her eyes, both from pleasure and something that was decidedly quite the opposite of pleasure. Domenico couldn't see them, and it likely wouldn't have mattered if he did, as he was too far lost in the sex to be able to pay attention to anything else.

He was not totally selfish, though. As he felt himself teetering dangerously close to climax, he used his grip on Anna's hair to pull her up against him so that he had a better angle to get to her clit at. His hand snaked around to touch her, rubbing fast, feverish circles around her clitoris as he continued to fuck her, wanting them to cum as close together as possible. He released an almost animal-sounding groan as he released in her, biting down on her shoulder in a way that would no doubt leave another bruise. With a few more circles of his fingers, Anna came too, collapsing against him as the orgasm rippled through her body. She was pleasantly surprised—she wasn't sure if she would get there, given that she wasn't super into roughness.

Domenico caught his breath, lazily kissing at the bites and bruises he'd left across the backs of Anna's shoulders. He had more than left his mark on her. He'd added to her collage of bruises, extending them to her chest and neck and shoulders, so that she was almost more bruised than not.

As the two fell against the pillows in a bit of a post-coital haze, Domenico looked her over, and almost felt bad for how domineering he had been with her. Only now did he realize that his usual roughness was, perhaps, not necessary. But he hadn't even thought of that before now. He'd gotten so consumed in her, so consumed with heightening his own pleasure, and engaged in his usual routine of doing so. Actually, he was rather pulled back with her—his trysts usually involved more...rough play. He hadn't needed all of that with her.

Anna, now the little spoon to Domenico's big spoon, tucked her hands beneath her cheeks as she laid pressed against him, deciphering the patterns in the carpet. She was physically satisfied, sure, but that was it. She felt stupid, thinking that she would have been emotionally or otherwise satisfied with what would likely amount to only be a one night stand. She just thought that things with Domenico would be different. And they had been, at first. She saw the way he looked at her. She felt the way he kissed her, the tone of his voice as he spoke to her, his reaction to her fingers knotting in his hair. But she couldn't do this again. She couldn't make love to someone who just wanted to shove her face in the pillows and almost suffocate her as he fucked her relentlessly. She wasn't a piece of meat to be fucked, and she was now wondering if that was all Domenico ever thought of her, and if everything she thought and felt had been another one of her stupid, hopeless, delusional daydreams.

Behind her, Domenico sighed, carefully using his fingers to get a knot out of her hair, one that he had put there. It was the most gentle he had been with her. For a brief moment, she felt that first feeling again, the one that told her that this was different, that he was different. But as she ran her fingers over the teeth marks across her collar bone and poked at the forming bruises around them, she was reminded that it wasn't all as it seemed.

"Anna, _cara,_ would you like to join me in the shower?"

For some reason, Anna said yes. She wasn't sure why she still wanted to give him a chance. She wasn't sure if it was worth bothering. But she did.

She followed him into the bathroom, holding a towel around herself while she watched him ready the shower for them. He'd just fucked her and seen all of her and they were about to get in the shower together and yet she felt the need to have some modesty. He, however, felt no need for modesty, meaning that Anna finally had the opportunity to see all of him. She couldn't deny that he was attractive. He was an inch or two shorter than her but well built—not overly muscular, but definitely strong and sturdy, with lovely, pale skin, not blemished by the hardships of life as hers was. His hair was dark, neither too long nor too short, but fashionably shaggy, his lips tempting, and his eyes, fuck...one green, one so pale a blue it was almost white. She loved his eyes.

Once Domenico deemed the water hot enough, he offered a hand to his new lover, and she took it, allowing him to lead her in. She turned her back to him as they began to wash, reaching for a small bottle of fancy hotel shampoo, undoubtedly the most expensive toiletry she'd ever seen in her life. Domenico stepped forward in the steam and hot water to kiss the crook of her neck. She shrank back from his touch, stepping forward to get away from him, and bringing her shoulder to her ear to prevent him from getting at the spot he desired.

Neither said anything. Domenico was glad her back was to him so that she couldn't see the expression of hurt come to his face. He was normally very good at concealing his true emotions, but in this instance, he could not. He thought he had something with her. He thought she saw him for who he was, liked him for who he was, so different than everyone else who liked him or pretended to like him because of his status as an Emeritus. He thought, for some reason, that she could see through him, and that perhaps she could, with time, pry what was left of the softness in his heart out of the cage of stone he'd imprisoned it in.

Finally, he decided he needed to be the one to break the silence.

"Did I...did I do something to upset you?" he asked. He sounded timid, unsure of himself. He wasn't used to having these kinds of conversations—he wasn't used to caring about whether or not he'd upset someone.

"No, no," Anna told him. She didn't turn around to face him. Now, he wished she would. "It's not...no."

Domenico faltered. He didn't think she was lying. She was not the type to lie. Still, he sensed something was not right between them.

"Did I...not please you earlier?"

A silence filled the space between the sounds of the water pouring down between them. The silence made him more worried than before.

Thankfully, Anna turned around. There was an emotion in her eyes that was unfamiliar to Domenico, though it made him both uneasy and comforted at the same time.

"If you're asking me if I had an orgasm, the answer is yes," she told him. Somehow, that didn't make him feel any better. "But pleased otherwise? Well...not exactly."

"Otherwise?" Domenico asked."What do you mean?"

The confusion written all over his face was earnest. He genuinely couldn't fathom that she would desire more out of sex than just an orgasm. He'd never expected, never even wanted, anything more.

Anna suddenly realized why it had all felt mechanical, impersonal, and not at all like she was expecting. Domenico didn't _know_ how to put that kind of emotion, that kind of softness into sex. All he knew was the hard, the rough, the animal frenzy. All he knew was fucking. He didn't know what she wanted, what she was asking for, because he'd never experienced. He'd never _made love._

A small smile spread over her lips with the realization. She felt bad for him, thinking that he'd gone through twenty something years of life without having that kind of an emotional connection.

She would have to show him.

"I mean gentleness," she said, though it didn't yet spark any realization in him. "Softness. A different kind of passion, something other than shoving my face into the pillow and doing it without looking me in the eye. A connection, Domenico. A real connection. That's what I mean."

He swallowed, hard.

"Show me. _Please_."

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> this chapter is not me condemning bdsm/rough sex fyi 🙃


	6. Chapter 6

Anna stared at Domenico, one brow slightly raised, her head slightly cocked to the side. She hadn't expected him to give in to her request so easily. She had, for some reason, expected him to fight her request for some softness out of some sort of Italian machismo she figured he had. That didn't happen, not at all. Instead, he nearly salivated at the mere description of the kind of sex she'd really liked to have, and was now almost _begging_ her for it. He'd never had it, probably didn't even know it existed, and now he wanted it. _With her._

She didn't want to torture the man any further. She closed the space between them. Her fingers found their way back into his hair, knotting there carefully so that she could hold him just where she wanted him. She could've sworn she heard him gasp as he realized that she was going to be the one teaching him a lesson now—and that he was going to _like_ it.

He never gave up control when he could have it. Now, he was willingly and eagerly relinquishing it all to her, so that she could teach him about the one thing he'd never had in the bedroom, maybe in his entire life: love.

 _Satan_ , _that's so stupid to think. Cliché,_ he chided himself internally. _This isn't_ love. _It's just...gentle sex. Sensual sex. Not love. Not now._

His thoughts immediately evaporated as she kissed him. It wasn't like the kisses they'd had earlier. Those kisses were his kind of kisses, fast and sloppy and hard. These were her kind of kisses, soft, gentle, and languid. She kissed like a content cat stretching in the sun, like she was well aware that she had all the time in the world to drive him crazy. He never imagined something like this would get him going so much. He had been fairly convinced that he needed some sort of power play, some sort of edge of danger or subversion or _something._

Of course, that was all before Anna. She had already changed a lot about the way he thought, and he had only known her for a few days. Hell, he didn't even know her last name.

Not that it really mattered. Nothing mattered much when she was kissing him like _that_.

Domenico was, at first, not sure what to do with his hands. Eventually, they settled on her hips, his hands kneading at her tender flesh. He tried to pull them forward because he wanted her hips against his again, and he was growing increasingly less patient. She was kissing him like that, her hands were knotted in his hair, the light scent of her lavender perfume was amplified by the steam and surrounding him, and she was even warmer than before beneath the hot water. She chuckled against his lips as she felt the tug at her hips, but she didn't give in.

"I know you're not very interested in virtues, but patience _is_ a part of this."

He accepted this with a slight glower, but the frustration was soon eased by the sensation of her lips against his jaw, then down his neck, and across his collarbones. Her mouth found all of his most delicate spots, and she adorned them all with lingering, velvety kisses. Her hands trailed down his torso and rounded over his hips so that she could squeeze his ass, working it carefully with her fingers. The jolt of pleasure he experienced from her doing that was unexpected. No one had ever touched him like that before. No one had every kissed him like that before.

All of the new carefulness, the new softness, was...thrilling. He was almost uncomfortably aroused, but at the same time, he didn't think he'd ever felt so seen before in his life, so adored, so _loved._

Ah, _she'd done it._ He felt an enormous crack forming in his heart's stone wall.

Anna slithered down Domenico's torso, kissing every bit of his pale flesh that she passed along the way, until she finally landed on her knees. He was panting now, and the sight of her so close to his throbbing cock didn't make him breathe any easier. He could feel her breath on him as she kept grinning up at him, that damn glimmer in her dark eyes, her hands grazing his thighs.

If he had been with anyone else, Domenico would have grabbed their hair and shoved his cock right in their mouth without much consideration. But he was with Anna, and Anna was far different than anyone else, than everyone else. He was at her mercy. He wanted to be at her mercy. He wanted the connection she offered him.

He wanted to be loved by her.

And Anna wanted to love him, and she was doing a damn good job of it already.

She took him in one of her hands, working him slowly. The poor man was already flustered from being shown such intimate affection that he was leaking precum. Anna knew that her plan to blow him first wouldn't work—he wouldn't last.

So she stood back up and switched positions with him, so that his back was against the back wall of the shower and she was facing him. There was lust in his mismatched eyes, of course, but there was something else. There was realization, a realization of what he could have, what Anna was offering him, and how much he wanted it.

"Sit," Anna requested.

He did. Like a dog, he sat, sliding down the smooth shower tiles, watching her with extreme anticipation, feeling like he was practically salivating over her. She was so goddamn beautiful, unfairly beautiful, a true work of art. Her breasts were full, her hips perfectly curved, her legs long and strong and her thighs full and lovely. This new view of her, her standing over him, made her all the more beautiful. He wished he could take a picture.

Anna set one foot on either side of his hips, and eased herself into Domenico's lap, her arms snaking around his neck again. He wrapped his arms around her too, pressing her chest and torso against his. She kissed him, alternating between kissing his mouth and that one spot at the corner of the jaw that she'd discovered he loved. She was the first person to discover that, and she was going to take full advantage of that secret knowledge.

Domenico stifled a moan as she began moving her hips. He hadn't even entered her yet. She was teasing him, rubbing her wetness up and down his cock, which was, as he now knew, unholy enough in and of itself. Paired with her kisses to his jaw, he felt he couldn't last long.

"Anna..."

His fingers dug into her back. He tried to be gentle, not to leave a mark as he'd done earlier, but he was so dangerously close that he couldn't help but to dig his nails in at least a little bit. She let up on her adoration of his jaw and neck, reeling back enough to look him in the eye as she built him up at an agonizing pace.

"Shhh," she said lowly. She kissed his forehead, then his nose, and then held his face to hers, forehead-to-forehead, making sure he was looking her in the eye as she eased him into her at that same agonizing pace. "Let it happen. Let me take care of you."

 _Let me take care of you._ Those were six words he was certain he'd never heard in his life.

He didn't even think of asking her for a condom, or why she didn't care about one now. She was riding him, looking him dead in the eye while she did so, adjusting her pace and movement to better please him as she examined his reactions. It didn't take her long to figure out exactly what he liked and exactly what he needed, nipping at his lips in between the movements of her hips.

He kissed her, harder now as he felt himself coming steadily towards his climax, desperate to get every little bit of her that he possibly could. He felt Anna's smile against his lips as she knew she was doing her job well, a smile that only grew as he became too consumed with his orgasm to be able to kiss her, though he did his damnedest to maintain eye contact with her through it all. 

It was, undeniably, the best sexual experience he'd ever had. And he felt that connection she was talking about earlier, even more as she laughed and fixed his hair for him and kissed him gingerly as she carefully lifted herself off of him. She held his face between her hands and looked at him adoringly, and he did the same to her, wearing the biggest, dumbest smile he'd ever mustered in his life.

"How was that?" she asked.

Without hesitation, he answered, "Wonderful. _Perfect."_

Anna laughed.

"Nothing is perfect, but I appreciate the compliment," she said.

She kissed him again, and he wished she wouldn't pull away.

"We're doing that again," Domenico told her.

"Of course," she nodded. "Was that better than shoving my face in a pillow?"

He nodded fervently, earning another laugh from her. He hugged her close, burying himself in the crook of her neck, engulfed in her sweet lavender scent, never wanting to leave her embrace.


End file.
